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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311791">Covet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seungshibari/pseuds/seungshibari'>seungshibari</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stray Kids (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character with OCD, Disjointed, Fluff, Fruit, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Hyunjin reads books, Long-Term Relationship(s), M/M, Slice of Life, They live on an orchard, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:47:43</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,434</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29311791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seungshibari/pseuds/seungshibari</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Past the pool was an overgrown orchard. It wasn’t theirs, but it could’ve been. Sometimes, at night, Changbin snuck out to pluck a few of the errant oranges - the big, swollen ones - and he’d surprise Hyunjin with freshly-squeezed juice with no explanation. Muggy memories of the gnats and weeds dissipated when he watched Hyunjin sip his drink on the patio. </p><p>Hyunjin’s face wrapped in dewy light, his little pink tongue on the underside of the glass, the sun refracting through the glass, the sun. </p><p>Hyunjin as a prism, Hyunjin as a mirror. Hyunjin as the sun.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hwang Hyunjin/Seo Changbin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Drabbles Challenge for Chaotic Writers</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Covet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I DO NOT give permission for this fic or portions of this fic to be REPRODUCED or REUPLOADED without my express consent. </p><p>i wanted to write about a character with obsessive-compulsive disorder again and portray a joyful relationship that is conducive to the character's growth in coping with compulsions. as someone who has suffered from ocd for over ten years, it affects every portion of my life, including my interpersonal relationships. the compulsions that hyunjin experiences are compulsions that i have battled in the past. since my experiences with ocd are not identical to anyone else's, this piece feels very raw but very warm to me! </p><p>i hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Changbin liked to watch Hyunjin read. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin refused to wear sunglasses. He claimed they’d give him an unappealing tan line - so he was doomed to squint, poised elegantly on the tasteful lawn chair, cradling his book. Hyunjin would sometimes grab a gel pen out of the misshapen mug Changbin had made for him at the community center, frantically underlining a portion of the page to save for later. When Hyunjin read poetry, he liked to show Changbin his favorite lines. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I know by heart the salt and smoke, elixir of your neck and fingers</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he’d dutifully recite, Changbin’s broad shoulders shielding him from the hot midday sparkle. “It’s Sandra Cisneros.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Changbin would nod, wipe some of the sweat from beneath the fray of Hyunjin’s hair. The strands flew through Changbin’s fingers, like comets. “What’d you think of the poetry?” And then, waiting for a rave review, Hyunjin would bookmark the page with a wrinkled Whole Foods receipt. He’d look up at Changbin’s strong silhouette, trimmed in gold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I loved it.” Changbin loved Hyunjin, and by extension, he loved everything that Hyunjin loved. Eighties music, marmalade, dream journaling, these things were good. How could Changbin</span>
  <em>
    <span> not</span>
  </em>
  <span> cherish the wisps of poetry that Hyunjin picked out for him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When it got too bright outside for Hyunjin, usually around noon, he’d stand and pace, walking cautious laps around the pool. He had gotten good at it. Changbin fondly remembered a day on which Hyunjin had tripped over the leg of their wrought-iron table, toppling into the shallow end and ruining his paperback copy of</span>
  <em>
    <span> Bridget Jones’s Diary</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>They met at the farmer’s market. A cliche, really, two calloused hands reaching towards the last fresh nectarine in the bin. </span>
  </em>
</p><p><em><span>Changbin quickly gave up on the race, distracted by the stranger’s intent eyes and feline speed</span></em> <em><span>as his pretty fingers grasped the fruit. Transfixed, Changbin watched the man try to slide his card out of an unassuming billfold, his filed nails getting caught on the smooth leather. A melodic laugh; he gave up and grabbed a fistful of bills from his jacket pocket. </span></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <span>He had to have noticed Changbin by now, right? The vendor offered to wrap the nectarine in plastic, but the man shook his head. Changbin looked down. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The sun was smothered by clouds, but the round fruit was bright and promising in the stranger’s palm. He elbowed Changbin. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“We can split it, yeah?”</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Changbin tapped the glossy cover of Hyunjin’s thick book, titled </span>
  <em>
    <span>Italian for Dummies</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Why’re you reading this?” Hyunjin didn’t look up. He turned the page, circling a tiny, impossibly complicated verb chart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because I wanna learn Italian?” The grammar spread was covered in highlighter, with little footnotes drawn up in bright pink and electric blue. Changbin had no idea how to decrypt them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got that part, but you’re not a dummy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin chuckled but continued scanning the conjugation tips. Changbin frowned and sat down at his boyfriend’s feet, crossing his tan legs and shading his eyes to watch Hyunjin study. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does Italy have that we don’t have right here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin let his hand slip off of his lap, settling it comfortably on one of Changbin’s muscled thighs. He spread his fingers, contentedly petting at Changbin’s peach fuzz. “Canals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I dig one for you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin closed the manual and smiled.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then I guess I’ll have to stay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Past the pool was an overgrown orchard. It wasn’t theirs, but it could’ve been. Sometimes, at night, Changbin snuck out to pluck a few of the errant oranges - the big, swollen ones - and he’d surprise Hyunjin with freshly-squeezed juice with no explanation. Muggy memories of the gnats and weeds dissipated when he watched Hyunjin sip his drink on the patio. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin’s face wrapped in dewy light, his little pink tongue on the underside of the glass, the sun refracting through the glass, the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hyunjin as a prism, Hyunjin as a mirror. Hyunjin as the sun. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Um… I like your bag,” Changbin muttered. It was tan, natural-looking, and fit snugly under Hyunjin’s arm. There were a lot of other things Changbin could’ve said that he liked about Hyunjin, but the structured tote seemed to be the safest bet. Hyunjin carefully studied the bus schedule to ensure they were at the proper stop; since he’d picked the date spot, he held the role of the navigator. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Changbin shuffled awkwardly, suddenly aware of how packed his pockets were. He never carried a bag. Maybe Hyunjin would be willing to help him choose one when they got downtown. Hyunjin paused, clearly flattered that someone had noticed it. Hyunjin seemed like the type to put an unorthodox amount of effort into his appearance. It showed in the swaths of glittery shadow on his lids, in the delicate little braids hidden in his bun.“Thanks, it’s from Telfar.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Oh, that’s a cool city! Heard it was a good vacation spot!” Responding with unprecedented enthusiasm, Changbin went quiet to watch Hyunjin react. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Squinting as he looked up from the pamphlet, Hyunjin sucked on his lower lip. “Telfar’s a designer. Also, this isn’t the right bus stop.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hyunjin’s peachy smile was well-worth the heat of momentary embarrassment. </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Changbin looked beyond Hyunjin to check the birdfeeders. Vacant - they usually were. Hyunjin said it was too hot here for birds to fly, so he hung ceramic wind chimes around their patio as penance, and the gentle twang blanketing them in bright noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t too hot for birds to fly, though. A flock of seagulls had settled in to march through the Whole Foods parking lot during Changbin’s lunch break. He sketched a few of them on the Hilton notepad he kept in his glove box. The little creatures were happy to remain in the margins of the pages. Hyunjin wasn’t like that; Hyunjin was his hummingbird. </span>
  <span>Some nights, Hyunjin would resurrect his bad habits and sacrifice his breath to them. Counting, listing. Repetition. Changbin would wake up to Hyunjin staring a hole into the ceiling and moving his lips, his face taut and pale, the rest of his body corpse-still. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Changbin would pull him out and help Hyunjin color himself in again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d wake up once again nested in each other. </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Hey.” Changbin’s body was jostled by two large hands tugging incessantly at the worn straps of his muscle tee. “Changbin, wake up.” Hyunjin’s fuzzy face came into focus as Changbin meandered out of his deep sleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t stop counting. Take me with you to pick oranges. To the orchard. Please.” Hyunjin’s fingers settled at Changbin’s pulsepoint and he rhythmically tapped the soft skin there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bringing his palms to his eyes, Changbin pressed until he saw lively colors behind his lids. In this liquid state, in the little space that existed between his dreams and Hyunjin, Changbin had a hard time processing words. He disassembled the request and began to reconstruct it as his eyes adjusted to the dark. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Counting’ - a fossil from the old times. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Me with you’ - Changbin’s favorite thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Oranges’ - “Wait, Hyunjin, you know about the oranges?” For some reason, Changbin never thought his fruit-picking ritual would be questioned. He didn’t mind doing things in secret. He didn’t expect any thanks for his love. He had so much of it to carry. It was heavy. He wanted to lay it down at someone’s feet and watch it unravel and come to life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, duh, the oranges had to be coming from somewhere. Of course I know. And I don’t think they sell single-servings of orange juice with extra pulp, anyways.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Thank you for taking me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for letting me take you.” </span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>The past existed </span>
  </em>
  <span>less </span>
  <em>
    <span>each day. There were many relics leftover from when life was harder for Hyunjin. Things had gotten better, steadily. That wasn’t to say that the numbers and names didn’t pulverize Hyunjin’s head anymore. They were only quieter, resting, undisturbed, buried beneath layers of his and Changbin’s practiced affirmations. Changbin knew that Hyunjin hadn’t had something like this before. He hadn’t had orange juice, a rescue dog, a pool. He was resilient, though, and so was Changbin.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>And they were romantics. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It wasn’t fair to the world for the two of them to pretend that they weren’t. </span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Hyunjin climbed up into the tree to grab a fruit, his toes gripping the thin branch as he reached for the plump orange. “Got it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jump down, let me catch you.” So Hyunjin jumped, and he wasn’t just caught, he was held. It all counted, but in a different way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Changbin and Hyunjin were both bathed in a shy, bluish glow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moon reappeared. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i just... love love! </p><p>comments and kudos are always appreciated! </p><p>feel free to contact me elsewhere:<br/>⚜  <a href="https://twitter.com/seungshibari">twitter</a><br/>⚜  <a href="https://curiouscat.me/seungshibari">curiouscat</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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